


Time for Plenty

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, KNBxNBA, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-11 00:02:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12310656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: Tatsuya's not old but he's older than he feels.





	Time for Plenty

**Author's Note:**

> this was not the kagahimu la olympics fic i set out to write but maybe i'll get to that one someday
> 
> happy 10/12 yo

They’re not old. It’s what Tatsuya says whenever Taiga calls him old man; it’s what Alex says whenever either of them refers to themselves as such; it’s what Tatsuya says when any of his teammates act like he’s fucking ancient (and while he’s still not quite used to the fact that he’d been a rookie when they’d been in grade school and it does make him feel a little bit weird, it doesn’t make him as old as they think he is). He’s thirty-six, old in basketball years but not even halfway to the average life expectancy or quite into the realm of middle age yet, Taiga right behind him.

They’re past their primes, but not by much. Every day gets stretched for all it’s worth in basketball, but they’re only one Olympics removed from Paris (one Olympics removed from people talking about them going over the metaphorical hill as Taiga had eaten up a higher concentration of minutes than he had for the Bulls in years and Tatsuya had racked up a personal best stat line, not that it’s about more than getting the gold). And what’s a prime if it’s not relative? Whatever trajectories they’re on, they’re still good. They’re still getting minutes, even if it hurts a little more. They’re still scoring; they’re still re-upping their contracts, another year, a few million more. Yeah, a lot of American players skip the Olympics. Their talent pool’s deep, but even so, especially so, Tatsuya and Taiga still got picked. They’ve earned it, hometown advantage or no.

If they didn’t have that, this wouldn’t feel quite so strange and surreal. The view from their room in the athletes’ village is a familiar one from the wrong angle, like lying down to read something on your phone but forgetting to change the settings so the display tilts with gravity. The buildings are the same but in a different order, the high rises downtown giving way to a different set of houses on the other side from where they’re used to looking, rooftops and backyards and schools, hills and mountains of their childhoods. It’s close to how Tatsuya would have described it if he could back then, the way it would feel to look out from here. Of course, it had always been about the NBA championships, the hometown colors he’d worn in his mind the purple and gold of the Lakers. He’d rarely thought about the Olympics except when they were happening, but, well. He’s got more medals than championship rings now, and the odds of him playing a final on or against the Lakers here, let alone with Taiga, are pretty damn miniscule.

But if Tatsuya still can’t let go of the past, he can at least let it lie, let possibilities and impossibilities remain as they are.

“You’re thinking too much,” says Taiga, his arm sliding around Tatsuya’s waist, thumb brushing over Tatsuya’s belt.

“I know you won’t let me get away with that shit,” says Tatsuya.

“Damn right.”

The room’s small, but it’s only theirs for a few weeks, and as much as they can talk about what they’re going to do, low voices and texts sent from right across the room and Taiga trying to glare and failing until Tatsuya asks him if he needs a moment, brushes his lips right by the shell of Tatsuya’s ear, they’re going to be asleep or not here for basically all of that time. They’re not old, but they’re older than they used to be. It’s not Tokyo and it’s not the two of them not talking about what they would have done had things been better (gone right, but would it have worked?) way back when Taiga had lived there. It’s not Paris, either, Tatsuya learning a book of French dirty words and whispering them with a mangled accent and definitely incorrectly but it didn’t matter because they’d still made Taiga shiver.

“Stop,” says Taiga, nuzzling his hair.

Tatsuya laughs. “I was thinking about you that time, though.”

“About what?”

“Paris.”

“Oh,” says Taiga, his voice dropping low like it hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“You weren’t?”

“I was thinking about you now,” says Taiga. “And about how we have an hour until practice.”

They’ve seen the smoggy air outside millions of times before; it’s no different now (so much for the big Olympic cleanup, California or no).

“We could do a lot in an hour,” says Tatsuya.

The words are redundant, filling up the space around them that doesn’t seem empty, edging them both a little closer. Worth it, to see the smile spread nice and slow on Taiga’s face like a long three taken out in the open by someone who’d escaped the defense, letting it roll off their fingers. It’s like that kind of feeling, when that person’s Tatsuya and he knows the ball’s going to fall in before it’s out of his hands. Taiga’s thumbing at the buckle on Tatsuya’s belt now; Tatsuya leans in to press a kiss to his jawline. They won’t have time for all they want to do, but they’ll have time for plenty.

* * *

Tatsuya wakes up sore the next morning; he’s been practicing hard every day of the summer but he hasn’t been trying to keep up with the kids. He still can, but his body had already been complaining yesterday, the creak of his knees and the throbbing in his bad elbow that he’d eventually let the trainers ice like they’d been threatening to. He’s been overworking himself since he was a kid; it’s not something he can stop, but it’s punishing in a different way now. It’s not just that he’s pushing his body to where he thinks it should be, he has to push it to get to the baseline, and his body is getting better at falling for the seduction of a warm bed with Taiga still half-asleep too.

His hair’s all messed up and his tank top’s been pushed up his stomach; Tatsuya would really like to run his palm over Taiga’s abs, build up to what a few years back would have been sleepy morning sex but now is more likely to be sleepy jerking each other off with the free lotion samples they’d gotten from some sponsor.

Taiga blinks, yawning; his jaw pops and he rolls over, shoving his shoulder against Tatsuya’s.

“Sorry.”

“Really,” says Tatsuya, and Taiga kicks at him under the covers.

It doesn’t totally work; there are too many covers and Taiga’s foot gets caught up in them. Tatsuya laughs, and Taiga rolls over on top of him, pinning him down to the bed before lowering himself down so he’s lying on top of Tatsuya.

“You’re heavy.”

“I’m fucking sore,” says Taiga. “I know you; I know you’re worse. How’s the elbow?”

“Fine.”

Taiga hums; Tatsuya knows Taiga knows what he means, and that Taiga knows if there were something truly wrong he’d say it (probably).

“Tatsuya,” Taiga says, dragging into a while, but it’s not in a way to get him to give something up; it’s just to say it.

“I don’t want to get up either,” says Tatsuya. “But that’s why we’re here.”

(And in an hour and change they’ll still be sore, pretending they’re not and jostling with the kids, and they’ll remember how much they love basketball in the first place, how much they love basketball here. Tatsuya’s not ten anymore and pulling both of them ahead faster than a motorcycle weaving through traffic on the freeway; he’s not fourteen and alone and feeling like he’s lost everything because he’s lost Taiga and basketball is slipping away from his fingertips. He’s thirty-six, not old but older than he feels, here with Taiga at his side.)

“Hey,” says Tatsuya, just loud enough for Taiga to hear and raise his head, squinting in the sunlight.

He kisses Taiga quick enough to avoid his morning breath, pulling his foot through the tangle of the covers to drag it up Taiga’s leg.

“Hey,” Taiga repeats, even softer.


End file.
